


You Win Some, You Lose Some

by isitandwonder



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Armie x Timmy, Come play, Freebatch - Freeform, Full-blown Charmie, Hints at Freebatch, M/M, RPF, SAG-Awards, Sad, They are so in love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 05:22:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: Armie, Timmy, Benedict and Martin attend the 2018 SAG Awards. It becomes apparent that some dare to live their love while others did cop out. There'll be one happy couple while others regret past opportunities.





	You Win Some, You Lose Some

**Author's Note:**

> Who'd thought I'd ever write a Freebatch fic? Well, kind of at least...  
> Ok, I got this idea when I realised that both Timmy and Benedict are nominated for a SAG Award next year. And I wondered how they would react towards another...  
> Coming from the Sherlock fandom, it's so very freeing watching how Armie and Timmy handle their chemistry. There's no coyness or playing it down; there's no ridiculing or embarrassment. Whatever is happening between those two - they deal with it way more open and positive than Ben and Martin did. Therefore, writing this was kind of cathartic because I worked through the issues I had with the rather repressed attitude towards Freebatch in the Sherlock fandom.  
> But who knows what went on? Who knows what's going on? This is just a fictional scenario - I hope you enjoy it.

**13th December 2017, London**

“Hi Martin.”

Silence. A cough.

“Ben, is that you?”

“Well... yes.” Couldn't he see the caller ID? 

“Oh.” A long pause. “Hello.” Curt. Clipped.

“Listen, apologies if I'm interrupting...”

“No, it's fine.” Too fast. Insincere. “How are you?” A child was saying something in the background.

“Sorry, this might be bad timing...”

“Where are you?” Martin asked.

“Glasgow.”

“Fucking Glasgow! So sorry, mate...”

Mate...

“I'm shooting here, what can you do?” He tried for light, funny. It wasn't very convincing.

“Yeah, you tell me.”

“Yeah...”

Another pause.

“Is there something important? Because, I have the kids over, Amanda is filming.”

“No, nothing important.” So he hadn't heard. “It's just, the SAG nominations went through today.”

“Oh, really? Sorry... no, put that down.” Muffled voices. Martin was covering the phone with his hand. His strong, small hand. Ben had to close his eyes and swallow. “Sorry, you were saying...?”

Ben was about to say good-bye and hang up. This had been a stupid idea. Martin clearly had moved on. He had other projects now, with his stage work and films coming up. They hadn't spoken in months.

“Benedict, are you still there?”

“What? Yes, yes. Listen, I'm inconveniencing you...”

“No. Never. Never.”

He could hear Martin breath.

“SAG awards you were saying?”

It took Ben a moment to remember the reason for his call.

“Yes. We were nominated.”

“We?” A telling silence.

“The show. Episode two. Well, me...”

“Wow. That's...,” he could hear Martin swallow, “...good, I suppose.”

There was the sound of china clinking. Were they having lunch?

“Yes, good.” Ben could hear how hollow he sounded.

“You must be over the moon.” Was Martin mocking him?

“It's an honour...”

“Hey, Benedict, I was there.” Finally, there was some warmth in Martin's voice.

“Oh, god... I don't know. It's... looking back, it was at least a decent episode, wasn't it?”

No answer.

“Anyway...”

“You took me in your arms.”

Now it was Ben's turn to fall silent.

“You know I'd have gone further.” Martin whispered. Ben had to close his eyes.

“Sophie will be in France in January, staging an Opera at Rouen.” He blurted out.

“Is that so?”

“Well, apparently...” His voice died in his throat.

“Yes?” Martin sounded hesitant as well.

“It's just... I think the honour is to both of us.” I couldn't have don it without you, he thinks, but can't say it.

“They nominated you.” Martin states matter-of-factly.

“Sod them. I don't want to go alone. Those ceremonies are tedious...”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Oh, come off it. That's because you never go.”

“Because I don't care.” But there was a smile in Martin's voice.

“Do you remember the Emmys?” Ben suddenly asked.

Heavy breathing on the other side. “That was a lifetime ago. We were different people back then.”

“Were we?”

“Listen, I can't talk about this. We agreed... just stop it.” All laughter was gone from Martin's voice. In fact, he sounded pained. So he did remember.

“I just thought you might like to come. It's in LA. I mean, the London winter is pretty shit, so I thought...”

“You thought I would fly out with you to sunny California to watch you win another award?”

“Well... it's not my fault I got nominated.”

“No, of course it isn't.” Martin sighed.

“Will you at least consider it?” Ben knew he sounded desperate but he didn't care.

“It won't be like 2012.” 

“I'm quite aware of that.” Now it was Ben who turned cold. Did Martin really think that he was that naive?

Another long silence.

“I let you know by the end of the week. Bye, I've got to dash.” With that, Martin hung up.

Ben stared at his phone until Sophie called from upstairs because she needed help with Auden.

 

**13th December 2017, New York**

“And I have to say, this is such an unexpected honor, I mean, I can't quite believe this is all happening, and being up against Gary Oldman, I mean, man, that is surreal, fantastic but surreal, so I really can't get my head around... sorry, my other phone's ringing.” Timmy knew he was babbling on the line with the New York Times but he was still so new to all of this madness. He'd just wanted to have breakfast and ignore all this nomination frenzy but then his phone had started to chime and chime and he had known that something had happened. By the intensity of his phone vibrating it had been something good.

After last weeks Golden Globe nomination, his mom had bought him a second phone, for private use. She'd almost gone mad when she'd been unable to get through to him after his nomination had been announced because the line had been busy all morning!

Eventually, she had decided to walk over to her son's place to hug him until he'd almost past out. Then she'd gotten the new phone.

“Take it as an early birthday present, darling. And please, only give the number to your closest friends and family.” The smile on her face had been a little too knowing for Timmy's liking.

But at least it made it possible for Armie to call him right now.

Timmy put the guy from the New York Times on mute but still whispered: “I call you back in a minute, I've got a journalist on the other line.”

“God, Timmy! Sorry, yeah, man, just... you're awesome!”

“You too.” Timmy said before hanging up on Armie with a big grin on his face.

After about another five minutes of spewing heartfelt superlatives into his mobile he was finally free to call LA.

“What time is it at your place?” Timmy asked. He still got confused, especially now, with all the back and forth between New York and Los Angeles.

“Almost half past seven. But I've been up for hours. Ford couldn't sleep.”

“Ah, man, I'm so sorry they gave you a pass.” Better get this out of the way. Also it irked Timmy. He knew he sounded ungrateful but he had so rooted for Armie, for them to have this together.

“Well, it was to be expected. I'm not really their favorite actor.” There was a sunny smile in Armie's voice, no sign of disappointment. “I'm so happy for you, Timmy. I really am. You deserve all of this.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Don't but on me, honey. Go out there and be happy and kick ass! Ride this wave. Believe me, there'll be other times.”

“Thanks, man.” Timmy knew Armie was speaking from experience. “I'll try.”

“Liz sends her love, too. She says her hand hurts from keeping her fingers crossed as you're apparently nominated for every award of the season.”

Timmy smiled. “Give her a kiss from me, will you.”

“Where?”

Timmy blushed. “You are _une effet pervers_...,” he mumbled.

“And you know your French really gets me going. And I'm not just talking about your language skills.” Armie's voice had dropped an octave. Timmy felt his blood rush to his groin.

“Stop that. I have to be able to give coherent statements all morning.” He giggled.

“You are getting better at that, I have to admit.” Armie laughed as well. “God, I miss you, love.”

Timmy had to swallow. “I miss you too, you fucker.” His voice sounded too thin. 'Don't start crying now'. He bit the inside of his cheek to let the moment pass.

“Well, we'll meet again in a few days. On the 17th?”

“Yep.”

“Four days. We'll manage.”

“Sure.” Timmy knew he sounded clipped but he just couldn't...

“You are not crying, baby, aren't you? Please, don't... not today...”

Timmy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and tried to swallow down his tears.

“I don't know what's happening...,” he whispered.

“It's the adrenaline. And the lack of sleep. Makes us all a little iffy.”

God, how he loved Armie's reassuring way to speak to him, to explain what was going on. He had so much more experience with all of this. He was his rock, his anchor.

“But you will go with me? To the awards?” Timmy choked out.

“Won't you take your mom or someone?”

“No, I want you. Please.”

“You know I can't deny you anything when you beg for it.”

Now Timmy's cock truly stiffened.

“Please...,” he breathed again, and he could hear Armie clear his throat at the other side of the continent.

“Of course I'll come.”

Timmy was about to say something else but suddenly an ear-splitting wail could be heard at Armie's end of the line.

“Oh shit, it's Harper.” Armie said, and Timmy could already hear him hasten up the stairs, mumbling “Shh, darling, Daddy's here.”

As if on cue, Timmy's official phone started to chime again.

“Listen, Armie...”

“Sorry, Timmy...”

They both burst out laughing.

“I call again tonight.” Armie said before hanging up.

“Yeah...”

The line went dead. Timmy's face still hurt both from grinning and crying when he took up his other mobile. It was the Time Magazine. What was his reaction to getting nominated for a SAG award?

Even Timmy knew that getting a boner from talking to his lover about attending the ceremony wasn't the answer he was supposed to give...

 

**21st January 2018, Los Angeles**

It doesn't matter if you are arriving from London or New York in LA in January – the heat hits you quite unprepared. It's like leaving your bleak, cold reality behind to step into an endless, boundless summer. At least for a while.

Ben has had this experience before, but it never stops to slightly overwhelm him. Los Angeles is such a surreal place even without the feeling of having entered a virtual Eden that it always knocks him a bit off kilter.

Especially today. He's arrived a few days before to do interviews and photo shoots and pre-awards dinners and other stuff he's learned to get used to as part of the job. His agent insists. He has to stay in business, and it's not getting any easier with a horde of young hopefuls pushing at the gates, and having your mayor feature of the year shelved. At least he'd escaped the W scandal by a hair's breadth, his publicist doesn't stop to remind him.

Ben's a little disgusted by this attitude but it's been made very clear to him that he shouldn't complain out loud. The grass is already growing back, covering many of the rifts ripped open last year. Ranks are closing. No need to open Pandora's box again.

Meanwhile, Martin has been to New York to pursue some projects of his own. Both the BBC and Hartswood had urged him to attend the ceremony but he'd been undecided until yesterday despite his promise to tell Ben before Christmas.

For Ben, this had been torture.

He's not sure what he expects, or hopes for, but he desperately wants to spend this evening with Martin. It could very well be their last association with the show that changed their life in more than one way. Maybe that's why Martin has kept him guessing until the very last minute?

He knows that by now Martin will be getting ready in his own room two floors down. Ben can picture his routine: shower, shave, take a nap, get dressed, do the hair, until his rep taps at his door fifteen minutes early, helping him to gather his things in one of those hideously stylish bags of his.

Ben smiles. There was a time when he'd been allowed to witness at least part of this ritual. Well, that's over now.

He throws one last glance at himself in the mirror – dark-blue Spencer Hart suit, white shirt, slim blue tie – rakes his hand through his hair and leaves to meet his agent's rep in the lobby.

“Sorry, Martin's already gone. He hates those red carpet walks. You'll meet inside. There's a table reserved for the production.” She explains matter-of-factly in her distinguished New York accent, clutching her phone to one ear, her hand covering the mic.

Ben tries not to show how disappointed he is and just nods. Suddenly, he wonders if it had been a good idea to ask Martin to join him.

 

**21st January 2018, Beverly Hills**

Of course, Armie had offered for him to stay at their house but Timmy had refused. Recently, during their promo tour, he'd come to cherish the possibility of retreat that hotel rooms offered – not only from the prying public eyes that were sharpening their focus as they moved into award's season.

The wail of a baby at one a.m. in the morning while you are sucking your lover's – and the baby's dad's – cock, or a toddler stumbling upon you in the kitchen, snogging and groping, are situations he doesn't care to relive. Neither does Armie.

Armie knows that his kids are too young to truly comprehend and that Liz knows and approves, but anyway... Timmy can feel that he's always a little tense with both his family and him in the same house. It's like he can't handle the obvious sparks flying between them; a fuse without grounding.

It's better for everyone if they seek some privacy. And as Sony is paying the expenses, Timmy has no guilty conscience for occupying a room at the Beverly Hills Hilton – a surprisingly ugly hotel he has to admit. But the staff is well-schooled, attuned to actors and quite discreet, which suits them both; no gossiping about forgotten handcuffs from this lot.

Timmy grins as he stretches out on the large bed the size of his apartment in Manhattan. Hot, white sunlight is streaming in through the large window and if he squints he can almost believe that they are back in Crema. His body aches deliciously. The air smells of sex. Armie lies beside him, sweaty and beautiful. Tonight they'll attend another awards do together, drink champagne, meet their friends before they'll return here to make love again. His life's so perfect right now that he doesn't even care if he wins anything. Right now, there's absolutely nothing he could wish for.

Armie stirs, throwing one long arm over Timmy's waist and draws him in.

“What are you thinking about?” He mumbles against Timmy's warm skin just below his left ear.

“Nothing.” Timmy has to smile. Life imitates art in so many ways when it comes to them that it feels only natural to quote Elio's lines back at Armie.

“Do you really want me to hang out with your mom?” Armie asks and Timmy can literally hear the big grin on his face.

“My mom's a lovely person.” He says.

“I know, but I prefer her son...”

They both dissolve into a giggling fit, which turns into tickling, which turns into a pillow fight, which turns into Armie straddling Timmy.

They are both panting hard when Armie presses Timmy's slender wrists against the mattress above his head, his by now long dark curls creating a soft, fluffy halo around his angular face. Timmy stares up at him, wide-eyed, trusting, his pink lips slightly parted. Armie could devour him whole.

“If we start this now we'll be late.” He says, but his rough voice betrays his good intentions.

“I don't care. I don't care about these awards and red carpets and dinners and stuff...” Timmy strains against Armie's grip, arching his back. Armie meets him half-way. The kiss is searing, hot and almost brutal.

'I know.' Armie wants to say. 'Me neither. All I care about is you. This. Us.' But his words get swallowed as Timmy starts sucking very suggestively on his tongue.

With a gasp, Armie rolls off of him. Now it's Timmy straddling him, all elbows and knees, lean long limbs and sharp edges. It's like wrestling with a pouch of wire hangers. Yet his mouth is warm and soft and wet... god, this boy will be the death of him! Armie's hard in no time.

Timmy hums around him with a mixture of pleasure and smugness. Armie bucks up, hitting Timmy's soft palate, and he almost chokes, his eyes watering, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he swallows, and Armie's eyes roll back in his head.

They stay like this for a moment, Timmy's hands holding Armie's hips down. He has trouble breathing around the thick shaft down his throat and it's hard to concentrate. Saliva drips from his mouth, running down his chin, when he tries to take Armie even deeper. Armie twitches on his tongue. Timmy knows he really loves him like this – helpless, obedient, serving him without restrains.

Yet eventually, he has to let go. Armie slides from his throat with an obscenely wet slurp. Timmy's breathing is wrecked when Armie takes his hot face into his large hands and kisses his swollen lips before moving down, rubbing his stubbly cheek over Timmy's hairless, wet chin and jaw to lick and nibble at his neck.

“God, I want to mark you, to show them all that you are mine.” Armie groans against Timmy's skin, sucking at his pulse point.

“Do it. Where they can see...” Timmy moans, clutching to Armie's strong body, his hands skimming his muscled back and shoulders.

They both gasp when Armie's perfect teeth sink into the sensitive skin of Timmy's throat, biting down hard. Capillaries break as he sucks blood to the surface, tinging white skin purple. Timmy raises his arse, grabs Armie's cock, lines it up and sinks down.

He's still slick from their last round but also a little sore. It burns, but he welcomes the pain.

“You sure?” Armie breathes against his chest, holding him in place in his lap, not moving.

“Yeah. I want to feel you tonight when I sit through the ceremony... just imagine your come dripping out of me all the time...” Timmy circles his slim hips a little and Armie throws his head back and rakes his hands through Timmy's curls.

“You are a dirty little chick, aren't you?”

“And you like it.” Timmy grins before he starts to move in earnest.

An hour later, after they'd showered and got dressed, Timmy's publicist almost has a coronary. It's not just the dazed look on her client's face or his puffy lips. It's not even the stubble burn still visible at least to the knowing eye. It's the violet bite mark just above the collar of Timmy's pale pink Gucci shirt.

She sighs inwardly but those two idiots are just too happy together. Even a professional minder can't be angry for long in the face of such honest affection. She just hopes that they'll be at least able to keep their hands off each other on the red carpet. With a small grin, she remembers the Golden Globes two weeks ago. If she'll survive walking in on another necking session between the two of them in a storage room, she'll demand a pay rise.

 

**21st January 2018, Shrine Auditorium**

To Ben, the Shrine Auditorium has always been one of those Hollywood architectural sins that make Europeans squirm a little. But this year, it somehow feels right to hold the ceremony in a place inspired heavily by Orientalism, if just to piss the current political climate off.

As he walks down the red carpet, there are the usual screams – mostly high-pitched teenage fangirls. Then there are the professional autograph hunters he despises. And the celebrity journalists he low-key dreads.

“Where's your wife?”

“What are your next projects?”

“Any comment on series 5 of Sherlock?”

He recoils from all those questions but hopes he's a good enough actor not to show how much they throw him off balance.

From the corner of his eye, he gets a glimpse of another nominee. That boy with the French name... Timothy something. The boy's lucky, for his partner accompanies him. Ben hasn't seen the film they are starring in but has been told that the kid is brilliant. He's also twenty years younger. Ben both envies and fears him. One of those young hopefuls. Also one of those young, very talented actors that don't look like conventional leading man material but can hold an entire movie together. Just like he's been lauded a few years back. Despite the boy's young age, he's a true rival. 

Ben should either embrace him or shun him. But he can't bring himself to do the latter. He's heard amazing things about the film and the boy's part in it. He'd even won a Golden Globe for it! And Ben's in talk with Luca about a new film. He should support him.

Only, he envies him so much it hurts. Not so much because of his prospects, but for how he hangs on his co-star's arm which doesn't leave much in question.

God, how he wished he could walk around with Martin like this, so openly affectionate. Perhaps there'd once been a time for them to do so – but it has passed. No use for crying over spilled milk, his mum would say.

He quickly makes his way down the line of waiting journalists before entering the foyer. Finally, he spots Martin, deep in conversation with Mary J. Blige. It's obviously about music.

“Benedict!” Claire Foy, already a bit tipsy, calls and waves him over. It has the effect that Martin raises his head and acknowledges his presence. He kisses Claire on the cheek and inquires about her husband, with whom he'd been in Amazing Grace, before he walks over to Martin.

“Hi.” Martin greets him before introducing him to Miss Blige. They continue to talk music, kind of ignoring him, so he has time to witness the entrance of the young pretender. Mobiles are still flashing when the door closes behind him. Behind them.

The dark-haired boy is in a pale pink Gucci shirt and a slim gray suit. His co-star is wearing the classic black tux – and he can surely as hell sport it. He looks perfect, like the typical Hollywood beau – only, he hugs the kid way too tight and whispers something in his ear as they walk into the foyer that makes both of them giggle.

They look so in love that even Martin has to smile as he follows Ben's gaze.

“Cute, aren't they?”

“Have you seen the film?”

“Yep. In London. It's beautiful.” Martin admits but avoids Ben's eyes.

“It surely is.” Ben agrees. Martin raises his eyebrows but all of a sudden, they are called to take their seats.

\----------

Walking the red carpet is always a challenge for Timmy. He's till not used to it. Though he likes it. He's not shy. The shouts, the lights... it's fun. As are the interviews. He's so new to this he still can enjoy the attention. And he's young enough not to take it too seriously. It's a show, all smoke and mirrors.

Though he has to admit that he sometimes gets nervous, especially in the face of celebrities that he only knew from afar mere months ago. Now he's encountering one of his idols – Mary J. Blige – and she hugs him and tells him she loved his performance. He's speechless.

Thank god for Armie! He seems to know all and sundry round these events. He's been in the business for some time and it shows. And he's from a rich background – which also shows. He's not getting nervous or intimidated when encountering celebrities. He simply puts on his wide smile – even if it's insincere at times.

Right now, Timmy really needs him. It's all a bit much. After both of them winning Golden Globes, they aren't outsiders or underdogs anymore – they are in the limelight. Everybody's watching them. Some are just gossiping. Many envy them. It's a dangerous combination.

There's a nice blond man talking to Mary when she beckons Timmy over.

“You are the kid who thanked me at the Gotham Awards! Bless you, sweet boy!” She kisses Timmy on both cheeks and he blushes profusely. 

“God, sorry, I mean... thanks... I might pass out right now...,” he starts babbling until Armie grabs his shoulder and says: “That is really kind of you. We are both big, big fans of yours.”

She shakes Armie's hand before introducing Martin Freeman.

“You're the fucking Hobbit!” Timmy blurts out and everybody laughs.

“Yes, mate.” Martin says, grinning at the excited kid. God, his unperturbed enthusiasm is so very endearing.

Benedict has already wandered off into the auditorium. Martin would have loved to introduce those two guys to him – might loosen the stick up his arse. They are just so refreshingly honest and open. But it's too late for now. “See you, guys. I keep my fingers crossed for you.” He says to them as he follows Benedict inside the belly of the old convention center.

“Same to you, man!” The boy calls after him and Martin has to smile.

\----------

Why do all these ceremonies get so tedious after a while? At least here, one wasn't squeezed into a long row of seats, unable to even leave to go to the loo. Instead, one sat at long tables, preferably surrounded by the crew of the featured production. With him and Martin tonight, though, are only Rebecca Eaton from Masterpiece and a guy named Frank from BBC America. Ben thinks to himself that the small entourage reflects his slim chances of winning his category, but still tries to smile for the photographers and give nods to colleagues he knows.

They endeavour to make it quick. The whole thing wouldn't take longer than two hours. And maybe, afterwards, would be time for a drink and a talk with Martin, either if he did win or loose.

A few tables away Ben registers heightened commotion. That's always a sign that there sits a frontrunner. But Ben wonders... of course, it's that kid who got nominated along with Gary and who also has another movie in the competition. But will he really stand a chance? Ben has been told that his performance had been stunning, amazing... but will he seriously be able to win against heavyweights like James or Denzel? Going by the attention he's getting, his chances look rather good, Ben has to admit.

He has only briefly waved at Luca before he'd sat down. The director is now surrounded by a cluster of people, journalists, actors, actresses, producers, you name it. He's the new up and coming thing. They'd been in talk about a project a few weeks ago before the awards buzz had swept Luca away. Now, he's riding high and he knows it. Everybody's darling. Ben smiles to himself. The Oscar nominations will be announced in two days. Scoring tonight can increase the chances of the movie and the actors, as the final Academy Awards vote won't be cast till February.

But despite being such an important night for the crew of the small independent film, everybody seems totally relaxed. Especially the tall blond guy who's name Ben has forgotten – it was something mildly ridiculous, and when someone called Cumberbatch thinks so, it means something – is laughing and joking, happy and at ease at this otherwise rather stiff ceremony. Luca is all smiles as well, and Michael Stuhlbarg, who Ben deeply admires, chats amiably with a thin, dark-haired man who nods ecstatically at every word coming from the other man's mouth.

And then there is wonder-boy. He's in his early twenties, dark curls, pale face, large eyes, positively giddy, buzzing with excitement. No trace of shyness visible at all. He's won a Golden Globe two weeks back, Ben remembers. That must have boosted his confidence.

Or is there something else? Because the glances and smiles exchanged between him and his blond co-star speak volumes. Is that even a hickey showing on his neck? 'Tone it down, boys,' Ben wants to tell them. 'This can kill not only your award's chances but your careers as well.'

He swallows hard as he remembers a meeting with Steven and Mark at Mark's house a few years back, where he'd been told that the Beep had taken some issues with his and Martins conduct, as they'd called it.

Ben still blushes remembering. First, they'd made their view rather clear – absolutely nothing was to endanger their production, certainly not an actor who couldn't keep his cock in his pants. Then, after about fifteen minutes, Amanda had arrived. They'd offered her the role of Martin's wife for season three and Ben had to sit by and smile and assure her how happy he was for her.

He'd vomited behind a bush on his way back home to Hampstead before he'd gotten hammered that night with James.

Ben shakes his head a little to get rid of those memories and grabs a glass from the table. White wine. It's just fine with him. Martin turns a little to look at him.

“You all right?” He asks.

“Yeah, course.” Ben answers a bit too fast, a bit too loud.

“Don't get too pissed. This will drag on for a while. Remember the GQ awards?”

Ben does and grins.

“It wasn't that bad.”

“No, it wasn't.” Martin's smile is a little sad. Ben has to look away, suddenly unsure what they are talking about.

\----------

This might so far be one of the best nights in his life, Timmy thinks as he sits down next to Armie at their table. Placed on his other side is the lovely Peter Spears, deep in conversation with Michael.

Armie's leg is touching his under the table. It's almost like a scene from their movie. No one has said anything about the love bite. At least not yet. Timmy's aware of some suspicious glances but doesn't give a fuck. This is their night and he's making the most of it.

Luca smiles fondly at him and nods. There's been some kind of invisible wire between them ever since filming. They haven't talked about... anything regarding Armie, but Timmy's sure Luca knows. Well, life imitating art and all this... or was it the other way around with them?

Anyway, Timmy's sure that Luca understands. After all, it was him who brought them together. He somehow knows deep down in his heart that he could talk to Luca, that he could confide in him. Maybe the day will come when he has to.

So far, Liz seems pretty chill with it all. Timmy wonders how long that will last. Does she see him just as a fling? Is he just a fling? He doubts that but what does he know? He just turned 22, it's not that he has lots of experience with this sort of thing.

“Stop worrying.” Armie suddenly whispers in his ear, his breath ghosting warm over Timmy's cheek.

“I don't...”

“You do.” Armie chuckles. “And it's totally unnecessary.”

“Yeah, it's just an award...”

“I'm not talking about the award.”

Sometimes Armie is almost eerily perceptive. Timmy looks down into his lap and tries to collect himself.

“Everything will be fine.” Armie says in a low voice. Luca winks at them. Peter coughs before raising his glass. “To love.” He proclaims.

They all clink glasses.

“To love!”

\----------

Alexander Skarsgard wins for Big Little Lies.

Martin twists his napkin and sighs. “Wanker.” He whispers before taking another sip of his wine. 

Ben has to grin despite his disappointment.

\----------

Timmy can't see anything or anyone, just white, hot, bright lights. He blinks a few times before he remembers that he has a note tugged in the pocket of his suit. But which pocket? It takes him a while to find it. Meanwhile, the deafening applause continues, accompanied by whistles and cat calls.

“Sorry...,” he mumbles. “I have an emergency note Armie wrote for me in case this happened, so I wouldn't disgrace myself as I did at the Globes.”

Laughter.

“But, man, I can't find it. Sorry again. Okay, let's see if it can get any more embarrassing.”

More laughter.

“I'd like to thank James and Luca who believed a kid like me could carry such a monster of a movie. I still feel so humbled. Thanks Peter. Thanks to my agent. Thanks Michael, you are the very best dad I could wish for! Sorry, dad! Of course, thank you as well. And mom. Oh my god, not that again. I love you mom!”

More applause, mixed with giggles.

Timmy's throat tightens.

“I couldn't have done any of this without my partner, Armie Hammer. He's just... I trusted him from day one. He catches me when I slip. He gives me courage. He's an amazing human being and I love him. He's more than a friend. He's an inspiration. Thank you, Armie!”

Timmy has the vague recollection that people are giving him standing ovations as he makes his way backstage. There are ushers, flashlights, questions and he almost misses Lady Bird winning Best Cast. When he sprints back on stage, Saoirse hugs him tightly and whispers “That was so lovely” in his ear.

The evening dissolves in laughter and Champagne. 

Some time later, backstage, he sees Saoirse talk to that British guy who'd been nominated for Sherlock. She gestures him over and he follows, hugging her again.

“This is Benedict, Timothée. We've been in Atonement together, ages ago.” Timmy sometimes forgets that Saoirse has been acting almost as long as he has.

He shakes hands with his fellow nominee.

“Hey, man. Nice to meet you.”

“Congratulations. It's well deserved, so I've been told.” God, that voice! The accent. Timmy swoons a little, clasping Benedict's long, slim hand.

“Wow... uhm... thanks, man.” He stutters. It has all been a bit much. He feels drained, as if running out of innocuous words to say. He's dimly aware that he spilled his heart out on that stage and the intense emotions are catching up with him. “You, too. I mean... uhm... sorry.” He falls silent, gazing into the distance.

Ben suddenly has to smile. He raises his hand to clasp the boy's shoulder and is about to say something when suddenly a shadow falls over both of them. 

“Timmy! Come here, you!”

The next moment, Timothée is seized from behind by the blond giant who wraps his long arms around the boy's slim frame and almost lifts him into the air. With a silent gasp, Timothée's head falls back against a broad chest and he grins, alleviated, at ease despite the tension he's vibrating with like a live wire.

Ben steps back and looks for Martin, realizing that he's intruding on something private.

He finds him at the bar, alone for once.

“Here, have a drink, let's drown your loss.” Martin says as he passes Ben a large Vodka.

Ben's not sure if he's just talking about the award but he knocks back the burning liquid anyway before ordering another and a Whisky for Martin. He still knows his favourite brand.

“You know that we could never have had what those two have, don't you?” Martin suddenly asks quietly, standing very close. Ben can smell his cologne, his shampoo, the alcohol on his breath. It takes him back six years, to a drunken night in this very same city, hot and humid, filled with silent gasps and awkward laughter evaporating into sighs of pleasure.

Ben doesn't look at Martin when he says: “No, of course not.”

What he really wants to say is 'But we could at least have tried, don't you think?' Only, it's too late now. They had their chance and they blew it. It wasn't to be. Their lives had aligned just for a brief moment during that summer, pushing slightly open a door towards another world neither of them had been prepared to enter set foot in then.

Still, he has the memory of what they shared in that bed, the bold touches, the wet, clumsy kisses, waking up together entwined, sticky, and going for another round nevertheless. Those had been glorious summer days. They'd lived in a bubble, on borrowed time.

“Do you still think about it, though?” Ben asks eventually, nursing his drink, the ice long melted, watering the alcohol down.

“I remember everything.” Martin says before brushing his hand very briefly against Ben's, looking up at him with a somewhat sad yet also haunted expression in his blue eyes.

The spell is broken when Claire rushes up to the bar, grabs Ben's arm and whispers. “Darling, just help a girl out. I'm dying for a Martini.”

When Ben turns again, Martin has already left.

\----------

It's very late – or rather, quite early - when Armie and Timmy arrive back at Timmy's hotel. Timmy almost forgets his statue in the car because Armie's tongue had been down his throat the whole drive, distracting him. 

First of all, they shed their suits in some kind of drunken wrestling match, leaving trousers, jackets and shirts in a crumpled pile on the floor.

Then they take a shower together, snogging until they are both reeling with the lack of oxygen. It's a wonder that no one slips on the tiles and breaks a bone. Like Armie did in January...

After sucking in a deep breath, Timmy jumps him again, pressing Armie against the glass wall of the shower cubicle. He can't stop touching his tanned skin as he licks water droplets form his neck, his shoulders, his chest. Rivulets get caught in Armie's chest hair, sparkling like diamonds. Timmy brushes his fingers through it until Armie's nipple are two hard nubs beneath a wiry fur.

“No... shower... sex.” Armie says in between kisses but grabs Timmy's little arse nonetheless and kneads his cheeks, brushing his fingers slightly through the cleft between them. Timmy moans into his mouth, water running over his flushed face, his dark curls plastered to his skull. He looks like a delicate bird. Sometimes, Armie fears he could break him.

He needs a moment, just holding Timmy's face in his hands, staring down at him. Timmy is panting, his hard cock rubbing against Armie's slippery thigh.

“Bed! Now!” He groans.

They don't even dry off.

They don't make it into bed either.

Armie fucks Timmy against the wall, holding onto his slim hips while Timmy's long, lean legs are wrapped around him. He sucks on the lovebite he'd left earlier, deepening its color. Seeing the purple bruise on Timmy's throat whenever he'd turned his head had almost killed him during the ceremony. He'd been truly grateful for the table cloth!

Knowing that millions saw the claim he'd lain on his lover during Timmy's acceptance speech makes Armie buck his hips, fucking Timmy as hard as he begs him to despite his worries that it could be too much. That he could be too much. He knows he's possessive. He won't share Timmy like Timmy shares him with Liz.

Timmy is almost screaming by now; a lamp shatters to the floor as Armie continues to pound into him. Extending one arm blindly, all he can reach is a t-shirt of him, balled up, that somehow landed on the dresser. He shoves it into Timmy's mouth to quieten him. Timmy's eyes literally roll back in his head. Warm wetness splashes against Armie's belly.

“Like that, me gagging you?” Armie grunts, and all Timmy can do is nod weakly, his head lolling on his neck. He's totally blissed out, eyes already falling shut.

Armie speeds up, thrusting into his pliant lover so hard he might rip him apart. They both don't care. Timmy is just making small keening noises in the back of his throat, pleading, urging him on.

It doesn't take much.

Armie comes, buried balls deep inside Timmy's tight hole. He's proud that he's still able to carry him over to the bed before lowering him onto the mattress and collapsing next to his still wet body.

They end up smoking a spliff in bed, passing the joint back and forth. Timmy has rolled onto his stomach and allows Armie to inspects his arse, watching his come slowly oozing out of his reddened hole. In between drags, Armie pushes the white goo back inside with his thumb. When Timmy passes him the butt again, almost burning his fingers, he pulls Armie's thumb into his mouth and sucks it like a baby, his swollen, rosy lips closing around the calloused digit.

Armie grins.

“Liz has to go to Texas tomorrow for a few days. She's taking the kids as well. How about you come up to the house. We could... play.”

Timmy releases his finger with a wet plop, smiling lewdly.

“Play what?” He asks.

“You'll see.”


End file.
